The Unexpected Vampire: Part 2
by maroongrad
Summary: I had a request to continue the story (well, several) AND a request for SOMETHING new for Halloween. This story is a sequel to The Unexpected Vampire. It was inspired by a PN Elrod story about Quincy, and I thought it would be fun to put a similar idea into Hellsing. What DID happen to Quincy when he died hunting Dracula?


I haven't had time to write in ages (sorry, people!) but I really wanted to do this and someone else asked for this…and…I'm not grading papers like I ought to be. I spent an hour writing this instead. And dammit, no guilt ;-)  
I do have one request for any other writers reading this. I don't MIND you borrowing concepts, like the sensory-deprived vampire scratching the inside of the coffin, or the nosy curiousity of exploring a house, etc. but I would really appreciate a nod of recognition for the initial idea. I love seeing where other people take those ideas, but if it's lifted from one of my stories, a brief acknowledgement is appreciated.  
This follows "The Unexpected Vampire" which was in its part triggered by a PN Elrod story titled "Quincy".

-

Frowning, Quincy turned off the television, rising to pace about the room. Every last bit of it, from a small crack in the wall to a rough edge on a board, was visible after more than a century of it being "home." Memories of the hot, dusty, sun-drenched Texas plains were just that…this little cottage tucked away in the mountains had been home since his unexpected change so many many decades ago.

And now, he might need to leave it.

He'd lost touch with his maker when Abraham had taken Dracula away, had lost his mortal friends as well. An attempt to contact Seward had backfired miserably. With a downward quirk of his lips, he remembered being *hunted* by his own maker! Dracula, Alucard then, had been no fool and Quincy no more foolish than he. Catching a late-night train had taken him far, far away, and Dracula's delay tactics had given him the chance to make that noisy, clattering, smoky escape. At least Dracula had been able to confirm that he was, well, not alive, but well…and he'd confirmed that Dracula had not been destroyed.

Dracula had not been happy…but not so miserable as he'd feared.

And the old beast was still in the service of the Hellsings. The TV had been filled with horrifying bloody images of Nazis, of the destruction of England…and of his sire, in all Dracula's monstrous power. More than Dracula's power. His maker had been almost inconceivably powerful before, but even that level of power was small compared to the monstrous abilities he'd seen unleashed across the buzzing screen of his old TV.

And that power, and the Nazis, had destroyed London.

Quincy had fond memories of England, of London and its pubs and dance-halls and absolutely fascinating citizenry. It had been the first true metropolitan city he'd seen after leaving the family spread, and it held a special place in his heart. Buildings he'd walked under and marveled at as a young human had been visible on that screen, burning and falling, like a thousand Blitz's in a single hour.

And they'd been crawling with vampires.

The latest he'd seen…had shown no Dracula, or Alucard as he had become. And hordes of ghouls had shambled down those streets.

He knew he was strong. A few vampires over the many years had been vicious predators and encroached in his territory to murder and he'd had no difficulties taking them down. Being Dracula's child…it had its advantages.

Quincy knew he was eminently capable of destroying the paltry vampires he'd spent the night watching in a sort of quiet horror. Ghouls were even less challenging. And…with Dracula gone…SOME responsible, competent vampire needed to go there on clean-up duty. Dracula's blood had imparted this unshakeable requirement; older or stronger vampires were absolutely required to maintain control over unrestrained, erratic, or excessively violent nosferatu. There was a pack of what was unmistakably unrestrained, erratic, and excessively violent nosferatu in London.

With his Sire out of the picture…he'd be seeing London again. 

A train slowed down to take the mountain curves safely and climb the steep sides with a steady pulsing thump of its diesel engines. It crested the peak and picked up speed moving downhill…with the extra mass of a coffin, a few bags of soil, and contemplative vampire.

London was… different. It had gone from an elegant brothel house to a charnel house, and it was with disgust and growing rage that Quincy found himself wading through the ghouls, ripping them apart. Very few vampires remained; Alucard had made quite the reduction in their numbers. But the ghouls…the poor bastards were everywhere, including a one-armed infant that had been gnawing on the dead remains of a child barely any older.

He was pushed to fury, red eyed with a bloody maw from ripping to absolute shreds the single vampire he'd encountered…when he encountered another vampire.

Small…female…and far different from the worthless wretch of a Nazi he'd taken such delight in turning into palm-sized scraps. Far more powerful, a power near on par with his own. Furious, as enraged as he himself was, equally bloody, eyes glowing a red that promised vengeance and mayhem and a vast indescribably terrible retribution.

And familiar.

She apparently was struck by that same realization. It took a few moments of shocked staring before she spoke. "You…are you… Quincy?"

And not long after that, at all, his newfound little sister had hauled him before the Hellsing. He could see Abraham in her, that ramrod-straight back, sardonic humor, unshakeable conviction. But she had more depth than he'd had; her concern for Seras and for London was something that Abraham would never have managed.

And she'd listened to him, spent the entire rest of the night answering his questions about his maker. It had taken him far too guiltily long to realize how badly she'd been injured, how much her eye pained her, the other wounds and cuts on her body.

Alucard had…changed. His status was still a servant, but from Seras's response, he rather thought the old beast liked the situation. Integra was certainly a natural leader, someone he found himself inclined to respect and obey…unheard of between a human and vampire, but there it was. She had more presence than Abraham had ever demonstrated, and that man had been no slouch as a leader.

God help the world if this woman ever became leader of a country. With or without Alucard, she'd take over the world and it would fall willingly at her feet!

And it WAS without Alucard.

He'd last seen his creator, falling down in a hail of bullets, barely glimpsed through a window as he himself had fled into the night. He'd been too busy escaping from his erstwhile friends to do anything to help, and Dracula had sacrificed his own freedom to ensure that escape.

He hadn't even been sure the vampire had lived…or…well…not died again. Not until he'd seen the vampire on TV, striding through the ruins of London, outer form changed (a beard? Chain mail?) but unmistakably his creator.

And he'd come to London, hoping to find him, that Alucard was maybe, perhaps, injured, or elsewhere fighting, and that was why he was gone and why Quincy was left to clean up. And… no.

After a century away from him, the pain of this second loss was near as bad as the first. Only Seras kept Quincy from resigned despair. Newer, still bound to Alucard, she KNEW that was still existed and was certain he'd come back.

And she was more than powerful enough to finish cleaning up London. He may not have gotten to see Dracula again, show him what he'd made of himself, but…he had a little sister. One that had bullied him into agreeing to keep in touch, and Hellsing had forced a phone into his hand with strict directions to call.

It didn't take much to realize that she worried about Seras, alone as a new vampire with no other vampire to guide her or keep her restrained if she should go feral. Not a chance with that woman; Seras was no self-centered indulgent git. She was a fine vampire. But…with Quincy around…to give advice and answer questions… Integra was absolutely insistent that he stay in touch.

A few days later, he was back on a train. Hellsing had him flown across the channel, a much faster and less stressful ride than his trip to London in the Chunnel, atop a military train of soldiers and tanks and bulldozers, gone to help London. Being UNDER so many many tons of water had him ready to scream from the sheer press and stress. Every vampiric instinct had been in revolt!

But as the train climbed back into the mountains of his home, he found himself staring down at the screen of the little flat plastic bit of electronics Integra had forced on him.

Dracula watched him from the screen, a slow rotation of a near-dozen pictures snapped by Seras or her master over a decade. And then Dracula disappeared, and the phone blinked brightly, signaling a call from "Lil Sis".


End file.
